


Guard and Gardening

by foxtwin



Category: Blackadder
Genre: Baldrick - Freeform, British Comedy, Comedy, Gen, Hugh Laurie - Freeform, Humor, Prince George - Freeform, Rowan Atkinson, Subtext, Tony Robinson - Freeform, Yuletide 2007, turnip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-20
Updated: 2007-12-20
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxtwin/pseuds/foxtwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(A/N: Originally written for Kahvi for Yuletide 2007. Betas by htbthomas and van_el. Reposted to AO3 in 2009.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guard and Gardening

"Good Morning, Your Highness," Edmund Blackadder said as he violently pushed wide the doors to Prince George's chambers. "It is now five o'clock in the morning and time for your Official Rude Awakening."

The Prince, asleep under a pile of comforters, stirred only slightly.

"Gmph ampheeh."

"I'm sorry, Sir, but Parliament seems to think you rather a sloth of a fellow, who never does anything. They've passed a law requiring you to wake up at precisely the Crack of Dawn. And since Dawn has cracked, and is now shedding its bright yellow blood into the skies, it has become my duty to awaken you." Under his breath he added, "And a damn fine duty it is, sod them all."

The Prince rolled himself over and lazily shoved the covers from his face. "If I must, then I must. But why does it have to be the Crack of Dawn? Why couldn't it be the Crack of Tea or the Crack of Midnight?"

"Because, Sir, if it were the Crack of Tea, the peasants might think the fine China had been smashed to bits, and if it were the Crack of Midnight, some in Parliament might take to thinking you've been having a late night romp with their cat." Blackadder shut the doors to the Prince's chamber. "Come on, now. Let's get your clothes on."

Prince George emerged from his royal bed fully clothed in his regal attire. "Ready. Now, what's on the agenda, Blackadder? Beating a peasant to death? Getting undressed in the streets? A loud boisterous yelling of `Sod off'? Throwing biscuits at Lord Nelson?"

"Nothing of the sort, Your Highness. While the beating of peasants would add a bit of spice to the day, and throwing things at Lord Nelson would be fine sport, it has been left to me to outline a daily routine for you." Blackadder produced from his doublet a small piece of parchment as the Prince cringed awaiting his fate. "Your routine is as follows: Crack of Dawn - wake up; Mid-Morning - Breakfast; Midday - Supper; Tea Time - Tea and Crumpets; Moonrise - To Bed." With each item on Blackadder's agenda, the Prince cringed, and crumpled his own sequined coat in anguish.

The prince tossed himself back on the bed in despair. "I have to do all that?" he asked Blackadder. "When do I get to have any fun?"

"I'm afraid `fun' is out, Your Highness. But look here, this is only a start. If Parliament were to find out that you were doing more in a day than written here, something responsible or educational, perhaps, it might reconsider and let you get back to your regular routine."

"Right. So, what would you suggest?"

***

Within the hour, the Prince found himself in dawn's early light outside of the palace for the first time in almost a year, walking through the palace gardens. Blackadder, at his side, had led him here in hopes of educating the Prince about the flora and fauna that surrounded him. His secret expectation, as well, was to get any casual onlookers to notice the Prince outside of his chambers.

As they traveled the path through the gardens, Blackadder was explaining various shrubs and flowers to the Prince.

"Ooh, Blackadder," the Prince suddenly said, stooping to notice a flowering plant along the side of the path. "What kind of flower is that, with the flat yellow head and the spiky-looking leaves? Looks damned dangerous--and beautiful."

"That, sir, is called a `Dandelion.'"

"Dandy Lion," the Prince echoed. "Yes. You know, I like Dandy Lions, Blackadder. And one day, when I'm King of England, I'll make sure that everyone has Dandy Lions in their gardens, too. And not just in their gardens, but their yards and meadows, too."

Blackadder maneuvered the conversation to another flower.

"This plant, over here, is a `Foxglove.'"

Prince George shook his head. "Foxglove, indeed. Why, a fox would have a very hard time putting those on."

"And this, Sir, is a shrub named `Forsythia'"

"Well," said the Prince, much put off. "If it's for Scythia, why is it in my garden? I should think it should be called `For-George,' don't you. Really, Blackadder, I will have to tell father that the gardener here has been planting other people's flowers around the palace."

"No, Your Highness. The plant is not for Scythia, it's called `Forsythia.'"

"Now, really, Blackadder! How can a shrub call for anyone?"

Just then a voice in the distance cried out, "Milord! Milord!" Blackadder turned and saw his dogsbody Baldrick rushing toward him. But the Prince, still puzzled by the shrub's name, perked up and pointed to it saying, "You hear that, Blackadder? The plant is calling for someone, but not for Scythia. It sounds like `Millard, Millard.' And you know? These shrubs sound just like Baldrick. I'll have to tell him when I see him next. Do you suppose that there are both boy and girl shrubs, Blackadder? Do you suppose they call each other at night, here in the garden?"

The Prince's attendant did not answer, as Baldrick came closer bearing a note in his hands.

"Baldrick, what's that in your hands?"

"A letter, milord, from the Prince's Secret Admirer."

The Prince, hearing talk of secret admirers and recognizing that Baldrick was at hand, turned around.

"A secret admirer? I wonder if it's Scythia over there..." The Prince said.

"Let me see that, Baldrick," Blackadder said as he snatched the parchment from Baldrick. "It seems, Your Highness, that this letter is indeed from a secret admirer. It says they would like to meet you at midnight, outside in the garden. It says here you are to come alone."

The Prince blushed with pride, "I think you'd best tell Scythia to keep quiet then," the Prince remarked. "It just wouldn't do for her to begin calling for Millard, especially if he happens to be my secret admirer..." The Prince stood a moment contemplating the evening's meeting. The prospect of a midnight tryst excited him. Visions of a woman, scantily clad, waltzing toward him on the soft, marshy ground made the Prince swoon. Blackadder, seeing the Prince behaving thus, took time to remind the Prince of his role.

"Sir, this admirer's ardent affections must be tabled for now..."

"Yes, Blackadder. Having this admirer on a table would be much more exciting, and..."

"No, Sir. Tabled...meaning, put aside for now. We have so many other things to do to make sure that Parliament alters your daily schedule." Turning to his dogsbody, Blackadder asked, "Baldrick, where did you get this note?"

"I was given it."

"By whom?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"What do you mean, not at liberty...? Look here, Baldrick, the Prince Regent is to meet someone, and I want to know who it is."

"If I tell you, Mrs. Miggins won't give me my turnip!"

"Aha! Mrs. Miggins!" Blackadder clapped his hands together in delight, but stopped short. "Miggins? Our Mrs. Miggins?" Blackadder was aghast.

"Mrs. Miggins???" The Prince was instantly jostled out of his reverie by the revelation that Mrs. Miggins might in fact be his secret admirer. Without another thought or word, the Prince fainted straight away.

***

As the Prince was recovering in his bedchamber, Blackadder was in the kitchen interrogating Baldrick and preparing the Prince's midday supper.

"Mrs. Miggins, Baldrick? Are you sure?"

"No."

"Then, who is the Prince's admirer?"

"Well," Baldrick paused a moment, considering his answer. "Me, sir."

"You, Baldrick?" Blackadder shook his head. "A flea has more intelligence than you, Baldrick, if you think the Prince would fall in love with the likes of you."

"Oh sir, I've seen how you go about with His Highness. You wait on him hand and foot, pressing his coats and stealing his socks...You spend so much time with him, and I'm down here in the kitchens day after day, scrubbing pots, and polishing lamps, and shoveling dung for my supper..."

"And you think your time has come, do you?"

Baldrick stepped closer to Blackadder, a new boldness enveloping him. His eyes beamed brightly. "Yes. I have a cunning plan. I went to Mrs. Miggins and had her write this note for me, see, telling the Prince he had a secret admirer - Me! So tonight, I'm going to dress up as a young girl and sweep the Prince off his feet and we'll go live in some enchanted castle somewhere, and we'll both live happily ever after, like Simple Simon."

"That's Cinderella, Baldrick."

"...And Mrs. Miggins said that if I did get married to the Prince, she would help us raise lots of turnips." Baldrick looked dreamy-eyed, caught up in his own thoughts.

Blackadder snapped him out of his reverie. "If you're Cinderella, Baldrick, then who's the Fairy Godmother?"

"Yoo-hoo! Bal-drick!" As if in answer to the question, Mrs. Miggins descended the kitchen stairs. In her arms was an astonishingly beautiful blue satin dress, complete with precious stones and ruffles. Blackadder's jaw went slack.

Spying the `secret admirer' over her bundle, Mrs. Miggins gushed, "Congratulations, Baldrick! I'm sure the Prince will be most pleased. Look what I brung ye."

Blackadder, thinking again, stopped Mrs. Miggins with a pointed finger. "How did you come by that dress, Mrs. Miggins?"

"It's my sister's. I told her I was going to a high society ball, and she's loaned it to me for the evening."

"Baldrick wouldn't know high society if it were floating on the ceiling! Better tell your sister; he'll likely have that dress looking like his dungy knickers before the night is out." Blackadder, convinced of the idiocy of Baldrick's plan, added, "But no matter. I'm sure the Prince will easily smell Baldrick before he sees him - dress or no. There's comfort in that."

"Now, Mr. Blackadder! I think it's sweet what Baldrick is doing," Mrs. Miggins said. "`Twill do His Highness some good to be mixing with the peasantry. Come Baldrick, let's try this dress on."

As the two left Blackadder to himself, the Prince's butler shook his head and yelled after them, "Well, you definitely deserve each other..." then more softly, "...problem is, ye both might bloody well go through with a wedding and decide to raise turnips." With a shudder coursing through his steel nerve, Blackadder gathered the foodstuffs and made his way from the kitchen to Prince George's bedchamber. He tried not to think about recent events.

***

"What do you think, Blackadder? Isn't it smashing?" Prince George had changed out of his usual frippery and put on a monk's habit, his face concealed by the cowl.

"I see you've determined to go celibate," Blackadder said as he entered the Prince's chambers. "So much for your secret admirer, then."

"Posh," the Prince said. "I got to thinking..."

Oh, God, not again, Blackadder said to himself.

"...I can't very well go about looking like the Prince tonight, now can I, all dressed up and prim? People might notice me, especially with any suitors about. And if they think I'm a monk - or priest - then they won't think twice. A woman in Mrs. Miggins' condition - it would be like going to Concession."

"Confession, Your Highness," Blackadder corrected.

"Oh, all right! It was bound to come out sooner or later," Prince George said. In confiding tones, the Prince continued, "I've never been so in love, Blackadder. I've only heard of her. A whisper on the wind." Prince George's eyes got a rather dreamy cast to them. "I've always wanted to have an illicit affair with a peasant woman. If she's got her eyes on me, I...I can't help myself."

"Mrs. Miggins, Your Highness, is as ugly as a tortoise and ten times as wrinkled."

"Yes, but I hear that her pie is divine! No, Blackadder, I must play the peasant to marry a peasant."

Blackadder turned away, setting down the Prince's supper. "First of all, Your Highness, you'll be in the palace gardens. Shouldn't your secret admirer be able to recognize you for who you are, and also appreciate you for what you are?" The Prince wrinkled his nose as if the thought of just being himself was beneath him. "You are, after all, a handsome chap who needs to flaunt his assets." Upon hearing his assets could be flaunted, the Prince's disposition changed. He smiled broadly.

"Secondly, if any of her pie-loving customers... eh... suitors... were to catch you, which they undoubtedly would - you're not the fastest horse in the field, you know - you'd still be the Prince, and you'd be dead." It took a moment for the Prince to comprehend Blackadder's logic and imagery. Once it registered, however, a look of sheer panic crossed the Prince's face. "But, not to worry, Sir. I've discovered that Mrs. Miggins is not your secret admirer."

"Oh, damn!" Prince George exclaimed. Pulling the cowl slowly over his head, revealing his royal undergarments, the prince despondently tossed the habit on the bed; it was all he could manage given the revelation. The Prince Regent plopped himself in his large comfy chair for a pout. Not wanting to know the truth, but fearing further emotional pain, the Regent asked, "Well, who is it then?"

"Baldrick, Sir," Blackadder said smugly. "And, he's quite looking forward to the occasion."

"Baldrick?!" The Prince rose suddenly from his chair in astonishment, nervous beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow. "Wh-what shall I wear, Blackadder? I-I can't go looking like this. And all this time, I...I thought he was a man."

"He _is_ a man, Your Highness," Blackadder said, matter-of-factly.

The Prince didn't seem to hear. "H-he sees me every day." Looking down at his undergarments, the Prince added, "I can't go like this. I-I'll have to get my best wig and jacket and socks and..." The Prince dashes from his chair to his bureau. Pulling out clothes one-by-one, he looked at each, discarding most of them upon the floor.

Blackadder looked at the Prince incredulously. "You can't be serious, Your Highness. It's Baldrick, for god's sake. He's bound to have you live in the sewers underneath the palace for the rest of your mortal life."

"Yes, well, Parliament did say I need a change of scenery," The Prince said, finding a wonderful pair of yellow stockings in the drawer and laying them neatly aside. "You've said as much yourself, now, haven't you?"

"And, what about your clothes?"

"I'll just take them all with me. Even the ones with holes in them. Maybe then, I'll be able to wear all of my socks. Matching them won't matter any more. Besides, there'll be less room to lose them in."

"But...what about the stench?"

"Hmmm, there is that," the Prince said, stopping for a moment to ponder it. Then shrugging it off, said, "I'll have to get used to it, I suppose."

"What about your meals, Your Highness? I doubt you'll find dung and turnips to your liking."

"Have you ever tried them, Blackadder?" Prince George said seriously, stopping to make sure Blackadder has his full attention. "I dare say you haven't. Neither have I, as you well know. But Parliament says a prince should be doing new things, and I intend to try." Prince George raised his chin in the air and went back to looking through his belongings for something to wear. Finding a nice velvet vest to add to his growing pile of possibilities for the evening, the Prince waved his hands in the air to dismiss his servant. "Now leave, Blackadder, before I put you straight out! You may bring my tea at the appropriate hour."

Stunned by the Prince's change in attitude, Blackadder leaves calmly enough. However, after the doors were closed, he emitted a rather loud, "Daaaaaaamn!" before heading back to the kitchens. The Prince and Baldrick - a match made in heaven. Now, how the devil to strike it so that it burned them both?

***

The bulk of the afternoon saw Edmund Blackadder stewing at Mrs. Miggins' coffee shop. Two hours had passed, and Blackadder had, uncharacteristically, been at his wit's end to find some way to intervene. It wasn't Baldrick's cunning plan, naturally doomed to fail, that had Blackadder in a whirl. It was the Prince. Never in all his time of service had the Prince so deliberately, so maliciously dismissed him. It was this, Edmund realized, that had begun to form knots of jealousy in the crannies of his heart.

Mrs. Miggins brought a cup of coffee and a few pastries to his table. Hoping to console him, she said by way of encouragement, "Well, at least you'll still have me." She allowed herself to bend over, showing him a bit of bosom.

Blackadder sat straight up, diverting his eyes. "Mrs. Miggins, as much as I enjoy your company, a pack of rats biting at my tenders at tea time in a wheat sack would give me more pleasure than marrying you."

"Still," she said, unfazed. "You can't be all down on yourself. You're bound to find yourself a nice cottage in Somerset, where ye can retire."

Blackadder looked up. "It's not done yet," he said, determination in his words. "And I'll be damned if some guttersnipe of a dogsbody is going to marry the Prince."

***

Leaving Mrs. Miggins', Blackadder made his way to the kitchens of the palace to prepare the Prince's tea. Along the way, thoughts of poisoning the Prince, or Baldrick, or both, came to mind - but were quickly suppressed by his sense of loyalty. The Prince was, indeed, his friend. Likewise Baldrick, as silly and incompetent as the little bugger was. It was a difficult truth to own, this loyalty. Despite that, Blackadder found himself looking for that container of rat droppings Baldrick collected. Perhaps the Prince would savor the odd taste, and call it a delicacy.

Finding the container hidden behind a small stash of oddly shaped turnips, Blackadder held his breath as he opened the container. Stealing a peek, he was disappointed to find it empty. Cursing his luck, Blackadder set to making the Prince's tea.

Quickly made, the prince's tea would not have his customary sweetmeats. Instead, Blackadder plucked three blackened crumpets from the hearth, topped them with butter, and placed the tea not-so-daintily on a fashionable tray. This is too good for the likes of Prince Floppyhead, Blackadder mused as he ascended the stairs and out the kitchen.

"I'll take these choicest crumpets," Blackadder said aloud to no one in particular, as he walked steadily toward the Prince's bedchamber. "..And shove them up his Royal Highness, if he so much as mentions Baldrick!"

Approaching the Prince's closed bedchamber door, Blackadder turned to enter backwards. Not a moment after he nudged the door open, a dramatic fanfare of horns blared so loudly and unexpectedly, that it was all Blackadder could do to hold onto the tea tray without toppling it completely. Quickly regaining his composure, and steadying the tray, Blackadder turned forward again to see the Prince smiling from ear to ear. Standing behind him, in full tabard, were seven of the royal musicians with horns set to lips.

"I see you've come with my tea, Blackadder. You may lay it down over on that table, there." The Prince, to Blackadder's dismay, was still being rather standoffish. Maybe some Blackadder charm could get him back in the Prince's good graces. Setting the tray in its place, Blackadder chose to engage the Prince in some light conversation.

"I see you have brought the musicians in to serenade you and prepare you for this evening's affairs, Your Highness."

"Indeed I have, Blackadder. I thought to myself, `Blackadder will be here with my tea soon.' and what do you suppose goes best with tea, Blackadder?"

Blackadder looked at the prince, shrugged and suggested, "Music?"

"Trumpets, Blackadder. That's the way peasants have their tea, Blackadder. With trumpets!"

"Crumpets, Your Highness. I believe you'll find they have their tea with crumpets," Blackadder corrected.

The Prince spied the trumpets suspiciously, and seemed to notice an oddity in one of them. "Well, yes, this one looks a bit crumpety, Blackadder. But the others are perfectly straight and well formed..."

"Crum-_pets_, Your Highness," Blackadder tried again.

"Really, Blackadder," the Prince said, turning back to his butler with a dubious look on his royal face. "I've heard of dogs and cats, but crumbs as pets. I shall have to talk to Baldrick about that. It just would not do to have a crumb as a royal pet..."

Blackadder threw his hands in the air just as the Prince stared off, contemplating life with a small crumb running around the palace. Wrinkling his nose, then shaking his head, the Prince decided, "No, I'd be sure to find it, pick it up and eat it. That would set Baldrick off, no end. And I'm afraid I'd never be able to live with myself."

"Yeah," Blackadder mused under his breath. "Just wait `til you've got a turnip running around the house!"

***

The hours since Tea had been slow, and the great Edmund Blackadder could do nothing to make them speed up. He'd attempted to stay with the Prince beyond his appointed hour, but the Prince would have none of his assistance.

"If I'm to be a peasant, Blackadder, I shall have to learn to dress myself like one." So said the Prince, who looked worse than the part some two hours later as Blackadder was summoned again.

The legs of the Prince's breeches were two different lengths, his white wig had been replaced with a red one. His jerkin was one size too small, and his jacket one size too large.

"Sir," Blackadder said, not unkindly. "If you are to make an impression on young Baldrick, might I again suggest that you just go as yourself. You'll be much more comfortable."

"Perhaps you're right, Blackadder. Now, leave me. I have much preparation to do."

"Indeed you do, Sir. Indeed you do," was as much as Blackadder could manage between clenched teeth.

Blackadder's walk back to the kitchens was perhaps the heaviest they had ever been. The Prince and Baldrick both were getting ready for their midnight madness, whilst he - upstanding butler that he was - remained detained in the kitchens doing the menial tasks he would usually have Baldrick doing. Two hours - maybe more - of making sure the ovens were hot, the floors had been swept, the mice had been fed and the rat dung collected. The tasks were beneath him, and his heart yearned and ached for some resolution. But none came. Justice, Blackadder noted, was well sighted and downright cynical. As Blackadder was about to douse the candle for the evening and make his way to his own apartments, Baldrick's voice roused him from melancholy.

"Mr. Blackadder! Mr. Blackadder!" Baldrick, in his flowing gown, was picking up its train as if he'd been gathering turnips in it.

"What is it, Baldrick? Aren't you supposed to be meeting the Prince in the gardens soon?"

Baldrick, having made it successfully down the stairs, chose that moment to stumble into a kitchen stool. Recovering clumsily, Baldrick looked at Blackadder sheepishly. "That's just it. I can't do it."

"What do you mean you can't do it, Baldrick?"

"I mean, I've got wet feet."

"Don't you mean cold feet, Baldrick?"

"Yeah, that too." Baldrick looked down at his feet, as if to make sure.

"What about this cunning plan of yours? Sweeping the Prince off his feet?"

"That's just it, Mr. Blackadder. I'm not ready. I don't know that I'll ever be ready."

"You look pretty damn ready to me right now, Baldrick," Blackadder said, sarcasm and jealousy mingling in his tone.

"Well, you see, I'd been getting ready all day. And Mrs. Miggins was so helpful, and all. But then, I was getting ready to meet the Prince when I realized... He's him, and I'm me. And, well, I got scared, Mr. B. I realized that if I marry the Prince, I'd be the one staying at home raising the turnips, while he did his Prince things. I'd be doing his cooking, his cleaning, his washing, his scrubbing, his mending... And... I'm just not ready for that kind of commitment."

"Well spoken, Baldrick," Blackadder said without any hint of sympathy. "You're right. The Prince has as much need for you doing his washing as swine have bathing in the River Thames... well, most of the year, anyway. And he has as much need for your cooking as a rat who has just eaten twelve pounds of rat poison."

"Yeah," Baldrick interjected, looking rather dreamily into the cooking fire. "I do like the extra taste of rat poison with my meals." Coming out of his dreamy state, Baldrick added, "It's just, I don't want to disappoint His Majesty. He's been so gracious to want to see me all decked out. He may never speak with me again, if I don't show."

"Baldrick, His Majesty the Prince Regent already talks to you less than a stone talks to a pebble, so I hardly think one night out in the chilly air without your dung-y smell is going to burden him."

"I suppose you're right, Mr. B." Baldrick slouched, defeated. Blackadder patted him on the shoulder once, but made no comment as he tended to the supper cooking on the hearth.

All of a sudden, Baldrick's head shot upright, and a broad smile lit his face. Blackadder became immediately suspicious.

"Baldrick! You look to be hatching one of your cunning plans again."

"I am, sir, though not so much hatching as born."

"What do you mean?"

"I have a cunning plan that will get the Prince to send me away. I will disguise myself, such as I am, as a pregnant maiden."

"Oh dear god," Blackadder said.

"When the Prince sees me tonight, he will say to me, `Get away, you pregnant maiden. You shall NOT be my wife!"

Blackadder brightened. Baldrick's plan might actually work.

"Yes... Baldrick, yes. That should do nicely. Here... let's see... we'll need a pillow and a few of these pig bladders and..."

Edmund Blackadder could not believe his luck - and Baldrick's simple mind - that could get him back into the good graces of Prince George. He set to work at once to make Baldrick's plan his own...and help its flaws to be less noticeable.

***

The night was darker and chillier than even Blackadder had anticipated. Baldrick, having not taken to the softness of a pillow, or the bloatiness of a pig's belly, determined instead to use the large turnip Mrs. Miggins had given him for his pregnant roundness. Blackadder and Baldrick secreted their way through the palace's lower corridors to exit into the gardens and conceal themselves among the hedgerow bushes.

Prince George did not disappoint them. His entrance was on cue and in perfect form. His royal demeanor, along with his naïve boyishness, was captured by the light of a half-moon as Baldrick and Blackadder looked through the cracks in the hedgerow.

Baldrick danced nervously on his feet in obvious distress.

"Will you quit, Baldrick?" Blackadder said. "The Prince is bound to hear your rustling feet. This is no time to back down from your plan."

"I'm sorry, Mr. B., but I forgot to use the chamber pot."

"For godssakes, Baldrick!" Blackadder said. "Here. Let me help you." Lifting the dress high so that Baldrick could do his excretory business in the bushes, Blackadder hoped their cover would not be blown. Unfortunately, the rustling sound of liquid urine hitting the bush leaves seemed to attract His Majesty's attention, because the Prince Regent made his way in their direction.

"Hurry up, Baldrick!" Blackadder whispered, not politely. The Prince was getting closer, and stopped just directly in front of the hedgerow. The Prince could tell that someone was behind the hedgerow, but was unable to see them clearly in the darkness.

"I have come to meet my Secret Admirer," the Prince said. Baldrick, behind the hedge, began to get even more nervous. A nudging by Blackadder in the ribs seemed to give the dogsbody courage.

"I am Your Secret Admirer," Baldrick said in a high-pitched falsetto. Blackadder shook his head in dismay. But the Prince, upon hearing the voice, brightened.

"Yes! And a saucy wench you must be, my darling," the Prince said.

"I am not a sausage wench!" Baldrick said. "I am... a pregnant maiden."

"Even better!" said the Prince. "I love it when they can hide the evidence in their bellies. Come now... show yourself, so we can be wed on the morrow."

Baldrick was unsure of himself. Blackadder less so. But a look of courage and determination set onto Baldrick's face as he walked the few yards to the hedgerow's end, and rounded the corner so he could face the Prince. Seeing Baldrick in a stunning gown, his beard and whiskers poking out on his face, the Prince smiled with delight.

"Why, Baldrick! You're not a saucy wench at all! But... how did you become pregnant? Who... who did this to you?"

"Why, Mr. B, of course! Come on out Mr. B!"

Blackadder walked out from around the hedge, determined to make these two feeble-minded buffoons learn a thing or two.

"Now see here," Blackadder said as he rounded the hedgerow. "Baldrick is not pregnant."

"Not pregnant, Blackadder?" the Prince said with an embarrassed laugh, pointing to Baldrick's middle. "He's certainly got a big belly. And, from what I can tell, you're the one who got him that way."

"It's a turnip, Your Highness," Blackadder said, as if that would explain everything.

The Prince did not seem affected in the slightest by this news. "And what kind of baby did you expect, Blackadder? Of course, it's a turnip! And it's an illegitimate turnip, too, if you ask me."

Blackadder was getting visibly agitated by the Prince's remarks. "Baldrick, lift up your skirt and show the Prince you're not pregnant. Show him."

Baldrick hesitated a moment, but did as he was told, popping out the large turnip that had acted as his pregnant roundness.

"Here it is," Baldrick said, holding the turnip as a mother might hold a child.

"Oh, Baldrick," the Prince said, coming closer. "It's beautiful." Baldrick beamed. The Prince looked at Baldrick a moment, then at the turnip, then up at Blackadder.. "It looks just like you both. I hope you'll be very happy together."

This was not at all what Blackadder had wanted. "Now see here, Your Highness..." Blackadder began. But the Prince cut him short.

"No, you see here. Baldrick came here to see me. But you go off and get him pregnant. And now, this turnip is born. Seems to me, Blackadder, that this young thing needs a nurse, someone to take care of it."

Blackadder was now completely non-plussed and beside himself with frustration. But the butler composed himself enough to speak politely to his Prince.

"Sire... this turnip is not mine. It belongs solely to Baldrick, and I think he should decide who should take care of it."

Baldrick nodded. Then, ever so carefully, brought the turnip closer to the Prince, and handed it off as a mother might hand off a baby.

The Prince smiled broadly as he brought the large turnip to his chest. "Oh, thank you Baldrick," he said. "Finally, a turnip to call my own."


End file.
